


Vine Bound; Dragon Tempered

by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hermione is dead, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, POV shift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyMagnatar/pseuds/Ramabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighth year. Harry and Ron have returned to Hogwarts to take their N.E.W.T.S., just as they know Hermione would have wanted them to do. Harry manages to convince Draco to help tutor them in potions and from there the tightly bonded duo learns to make room for a third party once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vine Bound; Dragon Tempered

**Author's Note:**

> This fic plagued me until I wrote it down. So here, enjoy the harvest of my incessantly plotting mind.

It was automatic, Harry had to admit to himself, the way his gaze swept across the Great Hall and lingered for a while on the Slytherin table. The last time he’d been sitting at these long tables, eating next to familiar faces in a calm atmosphere, he had been hunting for any sign of mischief, of danger, in the angular face of Malfoy. Sixth year had been a year of hunting that had bled over into what should have been his seventh year and the habits of watching and figuring had not died yet. So it was that he casually took a drink and stared at the table across from him, looking at the unfamiliar and familiar faces of that shrunken House, wondering what it was that had drawn his attention their in the first place.

After a moment more, he lowered his glass and said, “Oh. That’s it.”

At his side, Ron stirred. He looked up from the book he had placed on his right side, opposite from Harry, to keep anyone from sitting there while he read and ate. “What?”

“Malfoy.” Harry replied, dipping his head in that direction as he glanced to Ron. They sat close, nearly shoulder to shoulder, as if they had always done so. “He’s the only Slytherin of our year that came back.”

Ron turned to look as well, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he snorted and rolled his eyes. Harry looked over to see that Malfoy was staring back at them, his chin lifted, his eyes narrowed, his spoon clutched in his hand like a wand as if waiting for a hex to come soaring through the air at him. Harry shifted in his seat and looked back to Ron, who had his finger on the page of his book to keep his place while he ate a few bites.

“Probably regretting it,” Ron muttered after a mouthful was swallowed, “He’s got no one around him to kiss his arse anymore.”

Harry glanced up at Malfoy, making sure that he kept eating as well though the movement felt mechanical this morning rather than enjoyable. Malfoy sat alone at the table, no one on either side of him or across from him or diagonally from him. He sat isolated like a marble statue behind a velvet rope. He snorted at his own mental image and shook his head. Malfoy was still watching them, hadn’t moved, didn’t even look like he was breathing. “He should have stayed home,” Harry said more to himself than to Ron.

“Yeah,” Ron replied anyway, “Then I wouldn’t have to see his ugly mug.”

Harry gave him a smile that felt like it cut across his teeth and ducked his head, “Too pointy, too pale, too proud. He really shouldn’t have come back.”

Ron shrugged, bumping his shoulder into Harry and turned to his book. Harry bumped his shoulder back and turned his attention away from Malfoy entirely and gave it to the few that sat close enough to talk to besides Ron. He noticed, as he leaned forward to talk to Neville, that there was space enough between him and his other gryffindors for another person to sit in. The moat that separated Malfoy from his housemates was almost the same as the one that separated Harry from his own.

That is, except for Ron, the constant warmth at his side.

* * *

Their table in the library was as isolated as possible, both magically and physically. Towards the far back of the rows and rows of shelves, tucked around a corner that almost seemed accidentally constructed and under Harry’s shivering layers of privacy wards, Ron found that even the discomfort of the hardwood chairs was nothing to the satisfaction of safety that they constructed together like a cocoon. He leaned back in his chair, softened slightly by cushioning charms, and flipped through an herbology book with all the attention he could muster on the thick pages and scraggling text.

The words swam in front of him, the pictures waved back and forth like in a gentle breeze and his attention was really on the way that Harry’s hand was gently wrapped around his own. It was warm, the callouses familiar. It was perfect.

Which is why, when something bounced off the wards and sent shimmering ripples like a pool of water, he scowled and tightened his grip even as Harry lifted his wand. They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before Ron sighed, let go, and Harry stood up. He murmured a counter charm and the silvery shell that kept them apart from the rest of the school shivered and dropped open to reveal the disturbance.

They both stared at the figure sitting on the floor, a sprawling of books and papers around him, his usually disgustingly straight hair in little flyaways around his face and his stupid silver eyes wide. Malfoy looked from Harry to Ron and back again twice before he managed to snap his gaping mouth shut and draw his attention away from them.

Ron narrowed his gaze and shut his book with a snap. Malfoy, gathering up his books in silence, stopped to look up.

That was when he noticed, for the first time, the dark purple mark that Malfoy was sporting on his cheek. Harry noticed it at the same time, Ron knew, from the way he shifted and began to walk around the table. He grumbled, leaning forward on the table. When Harry bent down to help Malfoy, Ron felt his lips pull back in a grimace and said in a voice thick with disgust, “He’s not a little bird, Harry, you don’t have to help him.”

Harry stopped, but his back was towards Ron so he couldn’t see his face. Malfoy, however, looked up at Ron and his jaw flexed as though he were grinding his teeth. Ron added, “He’s not worth the bother, anyway.”

Harry ignored him. Ron knew that by the way he shrugged one shoulder, turned over a book in his hand and looked up at Malfoy and said as though Ron hadn’t even spoken, “ _Collections of Mending the Battered Body; Healing Potions and the Brewers Who Created Them_. I didn’t know you were interested in that kind of thing, Malfoy.”

Malfoy hissed and snatched the book from his hand, standing up quickly. He looked thin, Ron thought, standing like that as though he were no thicker than a book himself, ready to be tucked away on a shelf. Harry stood a little slower, meeting Malfoy’s gaze and not rising to the level of anger Ron knew that he had in him, buried deep and churning. “There is _very little_ that you know of me, Potter.” He spoke the words in a brittle tone that made Ron wince.

“I know you’re good at potions,” Harry replied, putting one hand on his hip and Ron knew that expression and he smothered a groan.

He didn’t do it well enough because Malfoy glanced at him like _he_ was the one about to spout nonsense from his stupid mouth and not Harry. But Harry just smiled that little smile he learned to use on the reporters when he wanted them to _please do this one little favor for him, please?_ and Ron saw Malfoy turn to that look with a twitch in his shoulders that he didn’t understand from Malfoy.

Ron could read Harry well enough, he’d been doing it for years and then, in the last few months, had been actively trying to learn more about him by watching him. Malfoy’s bizarre twitches could remain mysteries forever and Ron didn’t mind in the least.

“I’m pants at them” Harry was saying now, still smiling that little smile as though bringing Malfoy into his confidence even though _everyone_ knew that Harry wasn’t good at potions. “Ron and I have been trying to catch up on years worth of the education to sit our N.E.W.T.S. later on and we’re having some difficulty.”

Ron didn’t snort, but only because it was true. They were both terrible at potions. Of course, both of their professors in the study had been terrible teachers as well.

“But you, Malfoy,” Harry continued, leaning his head forward just a little bit and Ron nearly gagged when he saw the way Malfoy’s eyes widened and his lips parted. “You’re good at it. You understand the theory and how to brew much better than we do. In fact, I’ve been wondering if you’d help us study.” There was a little pause when he glanced to the side and down, “Ron thinks that even if you’re good at it, there’s no way you’d be any good at teaching it. I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, but you know how he is.”

The only reason he didn’t react, Ron told himself as he sat very still and listened very quietly, is because Harry was looking directly at him and his green eyes sparkled. He had learned, stubbornly and regretfully, the way Harry looked when he wore his Slytherin tie and twisted his words around to make people do something for him they didn’t otherwise want to do. But his eyes sparkled when that happened and Ron liked that look so he sat silently and gave Harry a look that meant that he’d get him later for that ‘you know how he is’ line.

Malfoy, however, didn’t see the gleam. Nor did he know about the sorting hat almost putting Harry in Slytherin so there wasn’t even a hint of suspicion there. He glared at Ron, his chin lifted in that way Ron knew was stubborn pride because he’d seen Harry do it before, and said, “I do know how he is. Reluctant to learn and stubbornly dumb because of it. Even if I was willing to teach either of you potions, he wouldn’t understand it.”

“Well,” Harry said with another glance to Ron that made him tense up because he knew that dark look better from his own reflection than Harry’s face and that prepared him, “Hermione managed to help him understand.” His tone was light, still goading Malfoy into doing what he wanted, but he stood very still.

Ron felt like he was made of ice. He couldn’t breathe or blink. His heart beat so loudly in his ears he almost missed what Malfoy said next.

But Malfoy hesitated long enough for Ron to hear and for him to exhale his held breath. Malfoy looked from one to the other before saying, very softly, “Of course she did.” The words were as stiff as Ron felt his limbs to be. Malfoy looked at the table between Harry and Ron and added, distantly, “I … heard how she died.”

Ron stood up then. The ice had melted into fire and he put his hands on the table to keep from shaking, to keep from storming over to Malfoy and adding another bruise to his face. “Did you now.”

Malfoy glanced up at him and then away. He said nothing for so long that Harry cleared his throat. “Look, Malfoy-”

He stopped when Malfoy put his hand up. He still did not look at them as he said, chin up, eyes narrow, hand shaking slightly, “I’ll help you with potions. I’ll let you know when I am available as soon as I work it into my schedule. You’ll probably need a great deal of time to make up for your terrible attempt at learning potions before so be prepared for gruelling sessions.” His grey eyes glittered like glass as he finally met Ron’s gaze, “Is it true that your mother killed Bellatrix?”

Ron grunted in assent, because anything else would have made him explode.

And then Malfoy _bowed_. Hair sweeping into his face slightly and Harry stepping back in surprise. In silence, Malfoy straightened up and walked away, his books and papers held tightly in his arms.

Harry stared after him in silence for a while before returning to the table. The privacy wards went up in a moment and then he had his arm around Ron’s back and his cheek on his shoulder. Ron shuddered at the warm touch and bowed his head. “She’s dead.” The words were ash on his tongue.

“She’s dead.” Harry whispered back.

Ron put his arms tightly around Harry in reply. They stood that way, silent and burning, for a long time before he felt Harry’s breath rattle out in a sigh and the touch of lips against his jaw. “We can make her proud of us still. It’s difficult, but we can.”

“If it was easy,” Ron muttered, “It wouldn’t be worthy of her.”

He felt more than saw Harry’s smile and then, slowly, they broke apart and got back to work.

When Ron opened his herbology book once more, the words were steady and the diagrams clear and his attention, even with Harry’s hand tight in his own, was focused on what he read.

* * *

The disused classroom was cleaned with a few quick charms. Dust vanished, cobwebs flayed, every surface cleaned until it was bright and gleaming. Draco stood in the center of the room, his arms still trembling even as he finished arranging the tables in a large U shape. Wood in the center, a stone table on the left, a metal one on the right. Off to the side was another, larger table with chairs around it, designated in his mind for where the simple studying went. It sat under a tall glass window, a true window, not an enchanted one, that opened out to the grounds, grassy and green, and showed the distant, dark curving shadow of the Forbidden Forest in autumn. But, this high up, it showed more sky than ground and that blue color was comforting. His mother’s eyes were that shade of blue.

His gaze was still on the sky when the door opened behind him and there were footsteps that he heard. A tremor of terror shuddered though his spine and was the reason that when he turned, his wand was clutched in his hand but low at his side to prevent it from being noticed immediately. Potter entered first, his eyes widening at the sight of the room. Draco knew how it looked, he had chosen this room himself after all, but he couldn’t help the glance around as if he had to be sure it was _right_. There were three cauldrons, ingredients stored on a low shelf and, along the far wall, a long, low bookshelf that was half filled with books on potions and half empty.

And then Potter was in the room and Weasley was there as well, a brooding, red-headed shadow that, for some obscure reason, filled Draco with more dread than Potter did. Perhaps it was the way his eyes narrowed at the sight instead of widening like Potter’s had. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he had several inches, both in height and shoulder, on both of them. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he stared at Draco, waiting for a misspoken word so one of his fists could reintroduce Draco to the world of bruises that he had been avoiding at every dead ended hallway and alcove in this school.

Draco looked to Potter instead and said, “Well?”

“Not what I pictured,” Potter said with a little sniff as he walked around the room. He stopped at the first window, there were three along the same wall, and looked out silently. His hand made a strange gesture at his side, but Draco didn’t understand it.

Weasley, apparently, did. He took up the conversation with a hard tone, “Figured we’d be in the dungeons, myself.” He walked over to the table with chairs and sat down heavily. He put his feet up on the table the next moment, watching Draco with a gaze that Draco knew was supposed to goad him into annoyance over his behavior.

He trembled, clenched his hands to stop trembling, and retorted, “ _Some_ potions require direct sunlight to brew properly. This isn’t just the room I will be tutoring you in. I will be brewing in here and the potions that I want to make require a room with these conditions.” He gestures around at the tables and cauldrons and vials and, unwittingly, Potter still gaping out the windows.

His eyes fell and stuck on Potter, who seemed to feel the gaze and turn slowly, smiling. Draco felt a quiver in his gut and dropped his arm quickly. “Any other questions before we begin?”

He didn’t miss the way that green eyes met blue eyes or the silent conversation that was held. He didn’t imagine the feeling of isolation that swept over him in that moment, the full realization that he was, and forever would be, outside of their confidences, but he didn’t have to let that realization show. Draco sniffed and stiffly walked over to the table, where he had pulled out a few books to start with, to see where these idiots’ potion foundation even started, and nearly walked into Potter, who stepped in his way abruptly.

“Ron’s got a point,” Potter said even though Weasley hadn’t said a single word, “Where did you get all of these materials? Did you take them from the dungeon classroom?”

Affronted, Draco sneered, “ _Taken?_ You mean _stolen._ Why would I bother stealing from a professor’s stock when I have my own readily available to me? Besides, once Professor Snape left the potion’s classroom, the best of the ingredients went with him.” He kept his gaze on Potter, eyes focused on that face, willing his breath to stay even and not huff in the anger he felt coiling inside of him. In the face of Potter’s silence, he said, “If you must know, these supplies come from the manor.”

He could not control the trembling that quivered through him like a plucked harp string but he could at least pretend that it didn’t happen by not looking away from Potter.

Potter who tilted his head to the side. Potter who slid his gaze away from Draco and towards the wall. Potter who grimaced and nodded and stepped out of his way. “Sounds like something Snape would do,” He admitted under his breath as he took a seat next to Weasley.

Weasley shifted his chair closer to Potter, as though to protect him from Draco, if his stony look was any indication. Draco stood in front of both of them, unable to sit because his knees were locked to keep from leaving the room altogether, and he he opened the first book. “Now that we’re all done accusing me of crimes I didn’t commit,” He said the words sharply, “Let’s get on with this.”

* * *

They flew in slow, lazy circles, rising up from the quidditch pitch and circling each other out over the grounds. Harry leaned back on his broom, his eyes cast up to the bright blue sky above as he let out a long, almost painful, sigh. Ron, he saw, when he was able to look away at the eternal sky, held the broom with one hand and sat back as well, though not as far as Harry. He trusted his broom, but only so much.

They flew in circles for a while longer before meeting up together, high above the school and the grounds and the forest. Harry knew Ron had noticed how small everything was, how far away they were from anyone’s attention, when he reached out and grabbed one of Harry’s dangling hands. Harry met his gaze and smiled. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Ron’s voice was thick and his eyes focused front and far away. “I don’t remember the last time we flew…” Then he did remember and winced and amended, “Flew like this. Peacefully. Able to breathe and relax.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. They flew in a larger circle, side by side, hands clasped, while Harry remembered the feeling when he’d looked out that enormous glassy window and saw the sky like it was for the very first time. “I needed this,” He spoke softly, letting his eyes open. Ron’s thumb pressed over his knuckles. “I really, really did.”

He sighed again and leaned towards Ron, tilting on his broom in a dangerous way, and kissed his cheek. Pulling back, he murmured into his ear, “Race you back.” And then his fingers were gone from Ron’s and he dropped into a spiralling plunge to bring him back to the ground. He was laughing, whooping with the sound as air rushed past him and over him and battered him while he turned and crouched low over his broom. He hung back just a little, as he neared the ground, careful not to hit it and saw Ron, at a shallower angle of descent, flash past him. His red hair flashed in the light and his robes snapped behind him. Harry grinned and sped up until they were neck and neck and then, slowly but surely, he passed Ron.

They curved over the ground, slowing in speed, as they neared the quidditch pitch. Almost too late, Harry saw a flash of red and black in front of him and thought, for a second, that somehow Ron had passed him again. But the figure was standing on the ground and he had to swoop up, jamming to a stop that nearly flung him from the broom and sweep out of the way as Ron followed in his shadow.

Panting, he turned to face the person standing, waiting for them and his heart hammered away at his chest while his gasping breaths rattled in his lungs. It was Ron who recovered first, who spoke first, leaning forward and shouting. His face was flushed from the wind and from his anger, “Ginny! What the fuck do you think you were _doing?”_

She faltered at his words, taking a step back with a clouded expression before tossing her hair over her shoulder and lifting her chin. Harry almost began giggling at the gesture, so like Malfoy during their potion tutoring sessions, but bit his lip to keep quiet.

“What do you think you were doing?” She shouted back, “you could have hit something speeding around on your brooms like that! You two are so reckless!” Her cheeks were flamed as well, her eyes bright in her anger. Harry shifted uneasily on his broom and unconsciously tipped closer to Ron. “Ever since…” Ginny’s voice faltered because even if she was capable of saying the words that were so clearly about to come out of her lips, Harry knew from the way Ron huffed his breath that he looked wild in the eyes at the suggestion. So she continued as though the pause for the possible words was enough, “you two have been nothing but loose canons. Tearing around at home at all hours, rowing with each other one moment and studying the next, snapping at the other students who just want to _talk_ to you and then taking up with _Malfoy._ Now you’re flying around recklessly, trying to fall of your brooms or run into something and snap your necks!” Her gaze suddenly snapped to Harry and he held firm under it.

“And, don’t forget, that you promise to talk to me, you always say you’re going to do it, but then you just avoid me for weeks and _weeks.”_ Her voice pitched lower, as though she had suddenly forgotten Ron was there. Harry’s hands tightened on his broom and he wondered why people always did that, why people always forgot Ron existed the moment they didn’t need him to yell at or sneer at. “You said you would come back to me after the war, Harry, promised that you just needed that time away and I gave it to you and now you won’t even _look_ at me-”

“Gin,” Harry breathed out her name, not sure what he wanted to say but sure he wanted her to stop talking. He could see, in the corner of his eyes, Ron’s knuckles turning white on the broom. “Gin, I told you I need more time-”

“And how much time is enough?” She tossed her hair again, arching her neck like a dragon. “How many weeks do I need to sit by and wait for you to decide to even say something to me? How long are you going to make me wait for you, Harry? How long do you expect me to wait?”

The heaviness of his tongue made him incapable of speech. He opened his mouth to speak anyway, but nothing came out. Finally he closed it and shook his head, closing his eyes as well.

“Fine. I understand that this is _so much_ for you to handle,” Ginny’s icy words stung as badly as her furious ones. “I’ll let you have some _more_ time to think it over, because of course you think about me like I think about you and you just want to _figure it out._ I’ll wait, Harry, because I _love_ you, but if you don’t love me back, all the waiting in the world won’t change that, will it?”

Harry looked up to see her eyes shiny with tears. She spun around and rushed off before he could respond. Not that he could but he wanted to try to and-

Ron’s arm was around his back and the other crossed his front to clasp his shoulder as he pulled Harry close against his chest. He was silent, shaking, and Harry could feel his teeth grinding. Together, they landed on the ground where Harry knelt and Ron continued to hold onto him fiercely.

“We should tell her.” Harry managed to say at last, “We should at least tell her.”

Ron’s arms tightened. “You know why we can’t.”

Burying his face against Ron’s neck, his glasses held carefully in his hand to keep from jabbing into Ron’s skin, Harry nodded and fell silent.

The first clouds of the evening had begun to turn golden before they got stiffly up from the quidditch field and left the brooms in the shed. They walked back to the school, Ron’s arm companionably around Harry’s shoulders as they talked, like any best friends would, about what dinner might be.

* * *

“How do you even quantify sunlight,” Ron said in annoyance as they walked towards the great hall together. He had been rereading a chapter in the potions book Malfoy had given them in the free hour before dinner in preparation for their evening tutoring session and his annoyance bunched under his skin and made him irritable. “How much is a pool of sunlight, Harry, how much is a beam? What kind of person even measures in beams and rays?” He made a cutting gesture with his hand, “Tell me, what kind of person does that?”

“Malfoy,” Harry replied with that sparkle in his eyes that told Ron he was smiling even if his lips weren’t. “You saw him read the recipe like the conversion of rays to beams to pools is like knuts to sickles to galleons. You didn’t ask him about it then, why not?”

Ron made a disgusted noise and stomped faster towards the doors. Harry trotted a few steps before falling in line beside him. They entered together, swinging the doors open enough for them to walk in shoulder to shoulder. Ron’s gaze fell on the Slytherin table, looking for the tell-tale blonde of Malfoy, and he growled under his breath when he saw him. “I’ll ask him now, then.” And off he walked.

He knew, without having to look over his shoulder or reach back and feel Harry’s hand or arm or anything, that Harry followed him. He knew, also, that Harry was smiling just a little bit at him from the warmth that made his neck redden from a blush that threatened to crawl up it. Fortunately, he figured Malfoy would just think he was angry, which he was.

Malfoy still had that circle of empty seats around him, but when he looked up at Ron he didn’t tremble anymore. Ron thought that was a good thing. It was fine for Malfoy to be scared, from time to time, but not of everything all the time the way he had looked when they first started studying together. Ron slammed his hands on the table, because many things were stupid and he was irritated, and asked, “How do the conversions work, Malfoy.”

Grey eyes blinked once, twice, before Ron realized that Malfoy was trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Ron shifted to the side as he felt Harry’s touch on his side but didn’t look away from the git in front of him. “You know what I mean,” Ron continued, “How do you measure sunlight for that stupid potion you’ve got us studying?”

In the middle of his question, dinner appeared on the table. Harry made some sort of murmured noise beside him, but Ron ignored it. Harry wasn’t the focus right now and he didn’t sound upset so Ron felt that was ok.

“Ah,” Malfoy nodded his head, the confusion vanishing. He started serving himself food, glancing to Harry as he did so and then looked back up at Ron. “It has two parts,” he spoke in that distant way that Ron found less annoying than his usual tone. He personally referred it to Malfoy’s Professor Voice. “Concentration and exposure time. A pool of sunlight is a broad circle of light that is allowed to linger for a while. A ray, in contrast, is a small sliver of light that is either very brief or passes over the area of influence. A beam is steadier and larger than a ray, but shorter and more mobile than a pool. There are other terms of measurement, but those three are the most common.”

Ron could feel the click of understanding in his head. He sat down next to Harry heavily and nodded his head. The irritation, crawling under his skin like ants in a disturbed hive, calmed. Grinning, he slapped Harry on the shoulder, “See? That's how you quantify sunlight.”

Harry snorted, lifting his cup to his lips, “I told you Malfoy would know.”

Eyeing the plate of food that Harry had, Ron looked around and began to fill up his own plate. His hunger was in force that night.

There was an odd silence from the other side of the table, and after he’d served himself the last of the vegetables that he knew Hermione would fussily tell him to eat, Ron looked up to see Malfoy staring at the both of them. “You could have waited,” He said in a far away voice that was so unlike the Professor Voice that Ron dug a finger in his ear to make sure it wasn’t blocked up. “You could have waited until our tutoring session tonight.”

Malfoy sounded afraid.

Ron stabbed at his food with his fork and looked at Malfoy carefully. Wide eyes, white knuckles on both of his hands that held onto his cup and his fork, respectively, a glancing to either side, short, shallow breaths coming quickly from his lips. Ron saw the fear clawing at the inside of Malfoy more clearly sitting across from him than he had ever seen it. Uncomfortably, he looked to Harry, who was much better at this sort of thing.

He didn’t need to tell Harry what he saw, as the clouds in those green eyes said he knew everything already. Ron sighed softly as he saw the set of Harry’s jaw. “I suppose there’s no arguing against it, now.” He muttered and then shrugged his shoulder.

The reward for his words came from Harry who briefly gripped his arm tightly before reaching across the table and putting that same hand on top of Malfoy’s arm. Then he smiled and Ron knew if he had any urge to fight against Harry’s savior complex, it was withering under that bright smile. “Yeah. We could have, but then we wouldn’t have had dinner with you, Malfoy.” And he said it like they wanted to have dinner with him all the time.

Ron rolled his eyes so hard they almost hurt. Then he spotted a dish just out of his reach and perked up, “Hey, pass that bowl, Malfoy. There you go.” He flashed his own quick grin, nothing so bright as Harry’s, at Malfoy as he passed the bowl. “Pudding for dinner. Everyone get some.”

Harry laughed, served himself some and then pushed the bowl to Malfoy, who mimicked the behavior with a look of shock that didn’t leave his face for half the dinner.

Ron felt the stares as well as he knew Harry did but he let them bounce off without a look back just as Harry grinned broader when he felt them and did something even more daring. _If they want to stare,_ he saw in Harry’s eyes one moment after laughing over something, _Let’s give them something to stare at._

And that was how, when it was all said and done, Ron and Harry walked out of the great hall without their shoulders touching for the first time since their return to Hogwarts. Malfoy, tense but proud, walked between them with a tight lipped smile of his own.

* * *

He did _not_ run.

Even though sweat beaded on his skin and made him shiver as he walked very quickly past gaping corridors and turning stairways, Draco did not run. He hunched his shoulder against nothing, kept his right arm drawn up into his sleeve and pressed against his side, kept his eyes forwards on the stones that passed under his steps and Draco did not run.

He cursed under his breath about how damn far he’d put his little potion lab and he fumbled with his wand in his left hand when he finally saw those doors, but Draco refused to run. Even with no one there to see him, even though he was alone for all the world, like he had been since he stepped onto the train that September, Draco refused to run to the pleasure of absent tormentors.

Besides, anything faster and his arm would have jerked and bounced at his side and the pain would have been so much worse. As it was, his eyes were completely focused on the door as he approached, wand in hand, and he missed the shallow alcove off to his left- the same one he had obsessively checked ever since he chose this spot just in case of an ambush- and stood in front of the door to carefully cast the spell to unlock it.

He was on his third attempt, hand shaking and voice rising slightly with desperation, when he heard someone call his name.

“Malfoy?”

Draco froze, his hand halfway through the incantation, and his magic tugging at him, asking for direction. He felt the twist of it before he could make his hand complete the spell, though, and yelped when a flash of orange-gold light flared from his wand, bounced off the warded door, ricochet to the ceiling and splattered like a handful of ash tossed at it. He stood, staring at it, panting, before he turned to the voice.

It was Potter. Of course it was Potter. He was leaning against the stone of the alcove, his legs wide and his arms up but not in defence. They were around another body, one that stood against him, one that Draco could only see around because he had his head bent to Potter’s throat. But that head was turning now and Draco felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth in wonder and sudden understanding as he saw Weasley staring back at him with frank annoyance.

He turned without thinking, protecting his already wounded right side and drawing away from them. His words came with venom, rigid from his pain and without any hindrance from his conscience. “Well _that_ explains a bloody lot about you two. No wonder you’re so close and so bloody blind to everything around you. You’ve got your tongues too far down each other’s throats to even bat an eye at the utter chaos you’ve left in your wake. Chaos which, by the way, some of us have no choice but to be targeted by. No. All that matters are you secretive little study sessions behind your precious little bubble where you can snog each other and damn the rest of the world to hell.”

Something warm was running down his arm and Draco realized that his right hand was in a fist and blood was seeping down his arm. His sneer pulled into a full snarl as he continued, “All those weird fucking looks you give each other, how you stand and sit and walk together, it all makes sense if you’re shagging each other too.” There was a bitterness in his throat that he did not understand, but that didn’t stop him either. “You haven’t seen the way the other Gryffindors look at me like I’ve poisoned you against them, like I’m somehow convincing you to eat meals with me, to treat me like…” His tongue curled against the word _friend_ and made him choke to a stop for a second.

Potter, pushing gently on Weasley’s shoulders had that look that Draco knew meant he wanted to fix things. As if there was anything about Draco that he could _fix_ with a few words.

His rage unglued his tongue and made him speak again. “They watch me. They cast hexes on me. They follow me. They want to know what I’ve done to you and they don’t believe me when I say that you are the instigators. They don’t believe that _you_ asked _me_ to help you!” His voice rose, spinning wildly now and he felt his legs take a step backwards even though he hadn’t told them to. The door was at his back, then, a silent strength that he needed to stand, to speak, to breathe.

“They ask me,” the words ripped themselves from his throat, “what I think I’m doing, trying to replace _Granger.”_

Draco knew it was silent after he said the words. He knew it, even if his ears were full of his beating heart and ragged breath.

Weasley spoke first, growling like a wolf, “You can’t replace her.”

Potter put his hand on his friend’s, no, his _boyfriend’s_ arm, and said instead, “We don’t want you to replace her. You aren’t her. You never will be. We don’t want you to be.”

Draco nodded his head sharply and immediately regretted it when his vision swam in his gaze. His hand went to his head and pressed against it even though he also held his wand in it. He groaned and slumped more against the door.

He must have missed a few seconds because suddenly Potter was at his side and looking earnestly at him and Weasley loomed over on his other side and Draco couldn’t breathe. Because if those fifth and sixth years could get away with an Unwinding hex on his arm, these two could gut him and have the world sing their praises for killing a Death Eater as the heroes they were.

Potter was saying something but Draco couldn’t hear it. He closed his eyes against the terror and whispered, “In my lab there’s a potion. I need it. I need to get inside.” And he heard something about the infirmary so he grabbed at the speaker, who was Weasley, with his only other hand, the one that dripped blood and turned on him and snarled, “Open the door and let me get my potion, I have no need of _Healers.”_

Then the door was opened and someone was helping him inside and he stumbled to the collection of potions he’d brewed and stored here because even his own bedroom wasn’t fucking safe anymore and found the one that looked like sunlight poured over gold and he drank it without getting up from the floor. As the last of the potion, heavy as the gold it was colored like, dripped down his throat, Draco groaned and lay down on the stone floor.

At least these Gryffindors, out of all the ones he knew, had enough honor to kill him only while he was awake so Draco knew he was safe. For now.

* * *

“Harry, don’t say it.”

Ron had said that four or five times since Harry had sat down. Or, more accurately, after he sat down with a cushioning charm under Draco and the stupid idiot’s head on his lap. Harry didn’t look up when Ron said it now, because his mind was tasting the way Draco sounded to it and he was trying to figure out how to tell Ron that it was Draco now and it would not go back to Malfoy, not after this.

Not after he saw Draco like _this._

Curled up on his side with his arms tucked tight against his chest and his legs half up to his chest and his cheek and nose pressed into Harry’s thigh and his eyelids flickering over closed eyes and his cheeks and chin all edges and no softness and his hair splayed out over his face and Harry’s leg like the first trembling attempt at a waterfall. His heart ached at this sight and he sat with his hand over Draco’s hand, clutched under his sleeping chin, because he had to give him comfort, somehow.

“Harry, mate,” Ron’s words were rough. He walked back and forth, his hands twisted in his hair and his breathing forced into deep and even breaths to keep himself as calm as he could, “Don’t say this.”

Then Harry looked up and saw Ron was staring at him, eyes wide and pleading and his face twisted in pain. “Ron.” Was all he managed before his best friend, his companion, lurched forward and went down on his knees on Harry’s other side. Ron grabbed his shoulders, but didn’t shake him. He met the blue eyed gaze and Ron groaned.

“Harry. We can’t. We don’t even know who is against him.”

“Who isn’t?” Harry replied. “His house avoids him. Ours attacks him. The other two are probably a mix of it. You’ve seen how the professors ignore him as he ignores them. He’s told us his mother is in France, we already know his father’s in Azkaban. He has no one, Ron. We know perfectly who is against him. Everyone else _besides_ us.”

“Mate,” Ron made a strangled noise and this time did shake Harry slightly, “They hate him for good reason. Hell, I hated him for years just because of the way he looked at me, the way he looks at everyone, like they’re mud on his shoes. You remember how he treated her, right? How he treated Hermione?”

A tremor ran through Harry and he tightened both his hold on Draco’s hands and the one he had on Ron’s shoulder. “I remember how he treated us. I remember how we treated him. There’s so much bad blood between us and yet he still taught us potions even though it’s done nothing for him but put a target on his back. We are the ones who made people pay attention to him, Ron. We have to protect him.”

“I am _not,”_ Draco said suddenly, pushing himself up, “a _baby bird_ that you need to hover over and protect like some benevolent guardians.” He pulled away from Harry’s hands and knelt up, scooting backwards. He shifted slightly on the stone, as if noticing the cushioning charm for the first time and narrowed his gaze at Harry. “You don’t have to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

Ron snorted. “So your mangled wand arm is how you protect yourself?”

Draco grimaced, “I made the mistake of thinking the Hogwarts corridors were safe enough to walk around in unaware. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Harry gave him a smile he knew was odd looking, especially since Draco glared at him and his hands tightened in his lap. “You’ll go mad thinking like that. Thinking everyone is out to get you, keeping your guard up all the time, jumping at every little sound and striking out at anything dangerous. I know. I know what it’s like to be followed and hounded and hunted like that.”

Draco took in a shaky breath and ducked his head. Ron’s hand slid down to take one of Harry’s and he squeezed it tightly. Harry squeezed back and then lifted his other hand to Draco. “It’s an alliance, Draco,” he murmured, noticing the way that Draco jerked and looked up at the sound of his first name, “While we’re at Hogwarts, where our attention gets you targeted, we help you protect yourself. It’s the least we can do if you’re helping us with potions. What do you say, Draco? Allies?”

Draco’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek and by the light of the moon coming in through those enormous windows, he looked less like the frightened child Harry had let sleep on his lap and more like a statue made of milky white ice. Then Draco nodded, just a little, and put his hand in Harry’s.

Harry gripped it tightly and turned his smile of triumph to Ron. He saw Ron staring at Draco as well, mouth open slightly, but it only lasted a moment before Ron reached out and put his hand on top of Draco’s.

That made him open his eyes too, and they seemed to glow in that same silver moonlight as he looked from Harry to Ron and then to their hands. “Allies,” he whispered so softly that Harry wasn’t certain if that relieved tremble he heard was true or not.

* * *

There was something strangely pleasant in the way they waited outside of the charms classroom together, hands almost touching as they half-leaned, half-sat on the shallow windowsill and talked in low voices about divination. It was still as bullshit as before, but now with less horror of the future and Ron liked the way that Harry spun the future like it was golden and brilliant and nothing at all like the twisted past that still hung around their shoulders and behind his eyes when he tried to sleep. He even found the way Harry brightened up with a smile to Malfoy endearing, as the blonde stepped out of the charms classroom, saw them lingering in the hallway and walked over with an arched eyebrow.

Harry straightened up and walked over to meet him in the hallway. Ron followed, glancing past Malfoy to catch the gaze of a few curious Ravenclaws and narrowing his eyes so they hurried off quicker. Harry was the one to greet Malfoy, asking him about the class and turning to walk with him. For a while, Ron was content to follow and then he trotted to fall in step on Harry’s other side. With Harry’s attention on Malfoy, Ron could see, for the first time, the way people looked at them as they rushed past onto their own classes.

Quick glances of confusion, longer ones of pity, burning hatred even, most of them turned towards Malfoy, the other half on Harry and only a few spared for him. He saw it then, the thing Harry ranted about every now and then, the way people refused to see him when they didn’t need to. His fists tightened at his sides and he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, but the heaviness of anger sat in his gut like iron.

He knew they stared at Malfoy like he was poison and knew that they watched Harry like he was a savior but he couldn’t stop the jealousy that strangled him. How could no one see _him_. He was standing _right there_ beside them!

And then Ron stopped short at the top of some stairs because he had been staring ahead and that was Ginny’s head and his rage throbbed with a whole new degree of anguish in his belly. He took a half step back, putting his hand on Harry’s arm to pull him back, to go another way, but by then it was too late. Malfoy stood still beside and a little behind Harry, who stood slightly ahead of them with Ron’s hand on his arm. Ginny walked up the steps, her eyes bright and her shoulders squared.

Ron automatically checked to see if she had her wand in her hand, but she only swung empty fists at her sides. She stopped several feet on them, eyes only on Harry, and planted those fists on her hips. “Harry. I need to talk to you. Right now.”

“Talk,” Harry said tightly, gesturing with one hand.

 _“Alone.”_ She emphasized, looking first to Malfoy and then to Ron. Ron wanted to scream. Even his sister saw him last of the three of them? Did he mean nothing to _anyone?_

There was a light touch at his elbow and Ron’s eyes widened as he glanced to the side. Behind Harry’s back, hidden because of him, Malfoy had reached across the space and touched his elbow with a few slender fingers. He said nothing, but his grey eyes glittered and he frowned slightly.

Ron couldn’t read his face, but he knew to keep his mouth shut. So he bit his tongue and glared at his sister instead.

“Anything you need to say to me you can say in front of them too,” Harry was saying, “It’s not like I wouldn’t tell them anyway.”

“Really, Harry,” Her tone was flat but her mouth was pulled in a disgusted look. Ron half hoped it would freeze that way so she would have something else to worry about than Harry’s feelings for her. “You’re really comfortable talking about your girlfriend in front of your school rival and her brother? I doubt Ron would appreciate hearing us talk about kissing and marriage and babies together.”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Harry said. “We broke up, Ginny. Before the war. We broke up, remember?”

“I remember you said you’d be back afterwards. I remember you saying you would always love me. Always.” Ginny snapped. “I remember that you’ve been avoiding me ever since. I remember that you never leave Ron’s side so you’re forcing my brother to act as a shield between you and your _girlfriend_. It’s after the war, Harry. You said you’d be back and I’m waiting for you to follow up on your promise.”

There was an ugly snorting sound that Ron, for a moment, couldn’t believe Harry had made. But then, with Harry’s head craned around to look at Malfoy, it was clear that he had done it. Malfoy took two steps forward, lifted his chin and turned his head in a way that Malfoy used when he derided potion experts unworthy of their titles. “Stop going after something you can’t have, little Weasley. It’s _obvious_ that Harry has no interest in you, isn’t it?”

Ginny’s attention riveted on him and Ron shifted his weight to his other foot, watching for her wand. She was quick to fire hexes when pushed like this, he knew that better than the other two. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so blind.” Malfoy turned his cool gaze on Harry and shook his head with a sigh, “They’re all so blind, Harry and I’m tired of their stupidity. It’s bothersome.”

“Draco,” Harry said in a low voice, he leaned back slightly. Ron gripped his arm tighter, his heart hammering in his chest. Malfoy wouldn’t.

But Malfoy didn’t listen to the warning Harry gave, only whirled around and said with his nose in the air, “He won’t date you because he’s dating _someone else,_ Weasley. He wanted to keep it a secret because of all the rumors and the lies and the attention it would get,” Malfoy spun back around to look at Harry, his eyes were gleaming. Ron had only seen him look like this when he was bottling a finished potion or when he’d finally taught them a difficult concept. “You need to stop hiding from everyone, Harry.” He took a step towards him, putting his hand on Harry’s cheek, “You need to stop hiding us from everyone.”

Those silver eyes slid over Ron and he barely heard Malfoy whisper the words, _“Play along,”_ before Malfoy was kissing Harry.

Ron’s hand tightened on Harry’s arm without thinking. He forced himself to let go when Harry tugged his arm away. Malfoy had his hands on Harry’s cheeks and Harry was holding his shoulders and Ron couldn’t watch this so he looked at his sister and she was so pale her freckles looked like blood on her skin.

Her mouth hung open. She looked from the two of them to Ron and let out a screech that could have been the words “You knew about this!?” as she pointed her wand at them and Ron moved without thinking as he brought up a glittering shield charm that deflected her hex neatly. He breathed raggedly and turned, slowly, to look at Harry, to look at Malfoy.

They stepped back from each other, Malfoy licking his lips, touching his fingers to them as if he couldn’t believe the taste and Harry…

Harry had to blink a few times to get the daze out of his eyes and Ron felt his heart tear into ragged pieces in his chest. He turned away again and dropped the shield charm. Ginny was backing away from them, her face a cloud of struggling emotions. She fired another spell, this one that Harry stepped forward and deflected, before turning and running. Ron was certain she had tears on her face as she went. He walked to the wall and put his hand on it for support. He felt tears in his eyes as well.

There was the distant buzzing of conversation behind him, probably Harry and Malfoy, but Ron just stared at his hand. “It was only temporary,” He muttered softly to the stone because it wouldn’t argue back. “After Hermione left we both needed someone and it was an accident anyway and after we got our newts and after we stopped hurting it would be over.” He closed his eyes, “It was only temporary.”

“Ron,” Harry was at his side, his hands hovering, uncertain, not quite touching. Ron shook his head and pulled away farther. His feet began to walk, back the way they came, opposite of Ginny and he didn’t stop even when Harry shouted after him.

It was only temporary. And if Harry found someone else who could kiss him like that, make him look like that, then that was real. That was real and Ron had to accept that.

* * *

“I can’t believe I am doing this.” Draco spoke to himself as he hurried down the hallways, following a little flicker of robe and red hair despite his inclinations to let Weasley and Potter tear themselves apart. “If my younger self could see me right now…” He shook his head. If his younger self had known anything of what the last two years had been, he would have made a lot of different choices. This one was hardly the worst.

He turned a corner quickly and saw Weasley’s retreating back. He knew this twist of corridor, however, with an intimacy that made his right arm ache and so he shouted, “It’s a dead end! You won’t get anywhere going that way!”

Weasley stopped dead in his tracks at that, standing in the center of the hallway with his hands at his sides and one foot in front of the other, as though he’d literally frozen solid at Draco’s words.

“You won’t see anything that way, except maybe my blood on the stones if they haven’t cleaned it up properly,” Draco came to a stop, close enough to talk but not to reach easily. He still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened, but from the way Potter’s eyes had darkened and he’d sat deaf and dumb down on the ground and the way Weasley had run away, he knew it was bad.

Gritting his teeth, he grumbled, “You offer me protection and then fall apart at the first bloody moment. What kind of gryffindors are you?” Lifting his chin he raised his voice, “Turn around and face me, Weasley, and explain yourself because I don’t think Potter will be able to talk for a little while.”

Weasley turned around at that, wand drawn and glaring. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” Draco retorted. “You’re the one who ran away from him. It’s the first time I’ve seen you apart since the school term started.” He narrowed his gaze, “Have you got some sort of spell wound around each other? Is that why he looks so broken without you?”

“He doesn’t… He isn’t broken without me.” Weasley said, defying the truth out of ignorance. Or stupidity. Or both. Draco wasn’t sure which and didn’t much care at the moment.

“Right. So when we walk back to the hallway where he’s sitting on the floor like you punched a hole in his chest, he’ll just spring up to his feet and smile and everything will be fine again.” Draco snorted and shook his head, “Look, Weasley, I heard you and he heard you muttering to yourself about it being temporary. I’m going to take a wild guess that you were talking about the…” he gestured vaguely with his hand, “relationship you have with him. Have you ever said that to him before? Did he know that you didn’t think it would last?”

Weasley shuddered. His wand dropped to his side so Draco was able to relax a little and rock back on his heels. Then he muttered, “He said it first. Back… back when we first started. It was an accident. We just… couldn’t be alone anymore.”

“You two are so stupid,” Draco said with disgust. “Getting into this like you could just fuck around and have it not mean anything.”

When Weasley didn’t jump to his own defence, Draco knew that his words had rung true. So he took a few cautious steps forwards and then a few more until he could reach out and touch Weasley’s arm. He ignored the way Weasley was taller than him and ignored the way that he was touching a blood-traitor’s arm the same way he ignored that he had kissed a half-blood and the same way he had ignored everything else his father had ever told him this year when he accepted to teach them potions for nothing in exchange.

Weasley looked up at him, his blue eyes sullen.

“We’re going to go back to Potter and we’re going to have a talk, you, me and him.” Draco spoke the words softly, his fingers tight on Weasley’s wrist, pulling him slightly. “And you two are going to fess up to being boyfriends to each other and then we’re going to figure out where I belong in this mess.”

The blue eyes narrowed and Weasley pulled his arm but not hard enough to get out of Draco’s grasp. “What do you mean where you belong? You don’t belong.”

“I do,” Draco said with a clarity that he knew came from the kiss he had given Potter. “I belong and we’re going to find out where.”

“You _don’t.”_ Weasley pulled harder but Draco refused to let go. He staggered forward, braced one hand on Weasley’s chest and felt the wild heartbeat under his fingertips.

“I _do.”_ Draco replied, breathless, and pushed himself up to kiss Weasley.

* * *

Harry walked in a daze after Draco. There was a tight grip on his wrist, as if Draco was afraid to hold his hand, and it pulled him along on Draco’s left side, just as Ron was being led on Draco’s right. Ron’s ears were a bright red, and had been that way since he returned down the hallway with Draco’s hand on his wrist. As they walked the now familiar path to Draco’s classroom-turned-lab, Harry muttered something about missing class. A grey eyed glare was Draco’s response to that.

He let go of Ron’s arm long enough to unlock the door and then shoved them both inside. Locking it from the inside, Draco stood facing away from them, counting under his breath in the quiet room. Harry looked at Ron, who bit his lip and looked away.

Draco turned and then said, “Sit down. This discussion is long overdue.”

Harry hesitated but took a seat at the table. He felt cold when Ron sat down on the other side of the table, diagonal to him, instead of at his side. He made up for it by looking out the window. The first snow of the season had started falling and it made the sky the same silver as Draco’s eyes.

He jumped when Draco slammed a book on the table to get his attention, whipping around to stare at him.

“This is very unbecoming of a Slytherin, I will have you two know.” Draco looked from one to the  other, his gaze hard as stone. “I am taking a Gryffindor approach to your problem because it’s obvious to me that anything less than blunt admonitions will fall upon your deaf ears and leave you floundering about in the mire of your lives as you currently have decided to live them. Am I understood?”

Harry nodded. He looked at Ron, who was rubbing his hand over his mouth but his ears weren’t red anymore and he sat back in his chair, sullenly looking at Draco. Harry felt his stomach twist and chew on itself as he wondered what had happened between them. “Draco…” he hazard to say but stopped when Draco lifted a finger at him.

“Not yet. I am going to lay down the situation first and then you two will talk to each other or I will beat you with this book until you do.” He lifted the green bound book and Harry recognized it as one full of, as Draco had said many times, petulant drivel. There was nothing worth protecting in the book, so he would hit them with it without caring about it, the way Hermione would not have.

Harry flinched slightly, reminding himself of Hermione, and automatically turned to the side for Ron but, of course, Ron was still across the table from him. He put his hands together and looked down at them, nodding to Draco.

Tapping the end of the book on the table, Draco spoke in the same distant but informative tone that he used to describe potions theory to them.

“The loss of Granger devastated you both.” Harry flinched at the words but didn’t look up or speak. “I can’t personally understand it completely, as the people who mean as much to me as she did to you two are only very far away, not dead. But I can see what it does to you and how it makes you act. People are afraid to talk about her in front of you, even now, Harry’s guilt makes him want to hide and Ron’s guilt makes him want to tear me into little pieces just for talking about her.”

Harry did look up then. Ron’s eyes were wide. His knuckles were white as he clutched his hands on his own arms. He stared at Draco, unblinking. Harry looked at Draco then, who bore their gazes with nothing but a little nod.

“You did what maybe some people would find stupid or reckless or pitiful and turned to each other for comfort. She was your friend. You were close to her than she was to anyone else. Even those who mourn her don’t mourn like you do. There was no one else but each other to turn to, no one else who understood.” His eyes, half closed, flicked back and forth between the two of them as he spoke, giving equal attention. “Unfortunately, when you turned to each other for comfort, you convinced yourselves and each other that it wouldn’t last. As if, somehow, there would be no way you could develop any feelings for each other. As if, somehow, you could see each other broken open and vulnerable and do anything other than want to protect and cherish each other.”

Draco stopped for a breath then. Harry noticed, for the first time, how his hands clutched at the book he held, as though it were a shield to his own words bouncing back off of them.

“Because of this misunderstanding, the little Weasley girl did not know that Harry was no longer available. Because of this misunderstanding, you entertained your relationship in secret alcoves and behind privacy wards and kept everyone at a distance so that no one would figure it out.” A smile cut across his face like a knife, “Fortunately for your stupidity, I am here now and can fix this bloody misunderstanding so that we no longer have to deal with hexes from confused ex-girlfriends and I can show you that public displays of affection can be powerful tools in many situations as it was in convincing said ex-girlfriend to back off.”

“What?” The word curled out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it.

Draco frowned at him and said, “I refuse to help you fix your relationship with Ron and then be cast aside when there is a much better option for all three of us.”

Ron’s ears turned red again and Harry stared at him and then stared at Draco and then repeated, “What?”

“I will not step back again and let you forget about me once we leave Hogwarts.” Suddenly the professor voice was gone and Draco was leaning forward, eyes burning. “I belong with you, Harry. I belong with you, Ron.” He looked at them as he spoke their names and then lifted his chin and said proudly, “I am an important member of this triad and if you attempt to cast me from it, I will beat you to death with this book.” He tapped it sharply against the table again.

Ron had his hand over his mouth, his face red as he looked away.

Harry, in a voice that felt very small, asked, “What?”

Draco groaned and lifted the book up to rest his forehead against it. “I know you’re not stupid, Harry, even though you try so hard to be. What do you not understand?”

But Harry looked at Ron and leaned forward, reaching towards him. “Ron, Ron,” His hand touched Ron’s arm and he was terrified, for a moment, that he would pull away, but no. Ron leaned forward too, resting his elbows on the table.

He pulled his hand from his mouth and muttered guiltily, “I saw your face after Mal- Draco kissed you,” He winced at the bitterness in his own voice, “I thought that what you could have with him would be more real than with … And when I ran off, he followed and then he kissed me too and…” He just turned a darker red and ducked his head.

Harry gaped at Draco, “You kissed Ron?”

Draco licked his lips. For once, Harry didn’t want to smack the smug look off his face, he wanted to get rid of it another way. “How is this going to work?”

Draco shrugged a shoulder and said, “With effort. We’ve only worked together in limited areas before now and there will be much more that we have to deal with together once we leave Hogwarts. But we can do it.” His eyes were brilliant and Harry remembered the moonlight that had made Draco glow. “Neither one of you are stupid and neither one of you are afraid of hard work. As long as that doesn’t change, there is nothing that can stop us from what we want.”

And he held out his hands to them. Harry saw the tremor in his arm, saw the brief flicker of fear in his eyes that were otherwise burning and took his hand without any more hesitation. Ron, however, reached over and grabbed Draco’s other hand and pulled. Draco let out his breath in a _whoof_ as he hit the table and had to brace himself on his elbows. Then Ron was kissing him and Harry thought he saw Draco smile into the kiss so he had to smile as well.

* * *

“There is no reason to be so nervous,” Harry whispered to him as they walked through the Gryffindor common room together. “He said he would take care of it and we have to trust him on it.”

“If he had an actual idea of what he as doing,” Ron whispered back, “Wouldn’t he have told us?” He tugged at his tie and Harry rolled his eyes at him and stopped him, straightening it out. Ron sighed and let him, looking past him into the rest of the room. There were a few whispers and regular chatter but nothing strange looking. Except for Ginny. Ginny who hovered near a cluster of her own friends before she tentatively approached.

They waited for her, Harry’s hand leaving Ron’s tie but resting instead on his forearm. Ron touched his elbow in reply and didn’t feel any strange quivering of fear as Ginny walked up and looked at them both, her eyes wide.

She kept her voice low as she spoke to them, “I don’t really… I mean… I didn’t really see…” Ginny shook her head, took a breath and then let it out slowly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you so much, Harry. I just didn’t know how else to get your attention when you seemed so far away all the time. I’m sorry. I… I just wanted to know how you felt about me. I needed to know if you still … cared about me after Hermione died because…” Ginny closed her eyes tightly. “I’m sorry. She was fighting Bellatrix with me and Luna and she shoved me out of the way and it’s my fault what happened to her and I didn’t move fast enough to get out of the way myself or raise a shield and she got hit and I was so afraid that if you ever knew you would hate me and I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Ron moved before Harry could. He pulled his little sister into his arms and held her there tightly as she clung to him with her head against his shoulder. Ron glanced to Harry who ran a hand over Ginny’s hair and then, standing close, whispered that of _course_ he forgave her and _no,_ the spell was _not her fault_ and he said all the words that Ron couldn’t say because even though he loved Ginny so much, he had loved Hermione too.

She eventually pulled back, wiping her eyes and smiling and laughing as she said, “I feel like such a kid, hugging you like that, Ron. You’re almost as tall as dad.” And he grinned and ruffled her hair and adopted Arthur’s tone as he ushered her off to breakfast.

Ginny went, wiping her eyes and waving at them as she left through the portrait hole.

Ron shook as he reached out to grip Harry’s arm and Harry leaned in and whispered to him the same words Ron had said to him, the words they used to comfort each other, “Bellatrix is to blame for her death. Not you, not me, not Ginny, not anyone else. Bellatrix killed her and then your mother killed Bellatrix.”

Shaking, Ron nodded and tightened his grip for a moment. Then he took in a breath, let it out in a gust and said with rueful smile, “Let’s go find out what Draco’s plotting this time, hm?”

* * *

A skittery type of nervousness filled Draco’s belly and made him shift from foot to foot as he stood under a Disillusionment charm by the doors to the Great Hall. When he saw Ron and Harry, walking in time with each other and looking eager but cautious, he dropped the spell and stepped out of the shadows.

The light caught his hair, he knew it did, because they both sputtered to a stop and stared. Draco half closed his eyes and offered a little smile. He turned his head with a little more flourish, letting his loose hair flick around his head instead of holding it smooth with careful spells, and smiled a little more when Harry’s hand lifted despite himself. “I’ve been waiting,” He said, when they had taken long enough to admire him, “Let’s go eat.”

He held out his hands and his heart hammered in his chest as they both came up to him, Ron a little smoother with his longer gate and Harry with his eyes wide and staring at his glittering hair. Draco turned it again, laughing softly as Harry reached up and touched it. “It looks like…” He murmured softly enough that Draco had to tilt his head towards him to hear him speak. “Phoenix feathers.” He ran his fingers over the side of Draco’s hair and Draco shivered.

The red and gold he had layered into the very edges of his hair, like he had dipped them in molten gold and fire, sparkled with utter perfection. He had foregone studying the night before to perfect the look. Without movement, or direct light, his hair appeared the regular blonde, he knew. With Harry brushing his fingers through it like this, though, the gold would glint and the red would blaze and Draco’s heart was caught in his throat.

Ron nudged Harry, grinning, “Mate, you can fondle him later. I’m starving.” He squeezed Draco’s hand and stepped forward. Harry made a noise of disappointment and allowed them to drag him into the Great hall. Ron was rolling his eyes as they walked in, Draco smirking with the way Harry followed with that big smile on his face, and neither one of them noticed which table they were going to until they reached it. Ron sat with a thump on the bench, patting the spot beside him absently and ignoring the way the other Gryffindors stared, mouths open. Draco sat primly beside Ron, pressing thigh to thigh and tucking his foot around and inside of Ron’s with a smirk as Ron flushed red.

He, for the moment, ignored how Harry sat on his other side, fingers brushing at his hair as he leaned an elbow on the table and sighed happily. The food hadn’t yet arrived, so there were no distractions for Ron as Draco turned his full attention to him.

“Neat trick,” Ron said through a thick throat, gesturing to Draco’s hair. Draco turned his head quickly back and forth, eliciting more gasps than just from Harry, though his was the most delighted.

“Thank you, it was complicated, but worth it, I think.” Draco curled his fingers under his chin with one hand, resting his elbow on the table. His other hand reached out and traced circles on the back of Ron’s hand. “It’s a little bit of glamor and a little bit of transfiguration, so it won’t last for more than today, but I thought that would be long enough for what I have planned.”

“And what is that?” He turned his hand so Draco’s finger ran the lines of his palm instead. “Big plans for today?”

“Of course,” Draco smiled, “It’s Saturday and a Hogsmeade weekend. I thought it was perfect timing for a date.” His finger stopped in the middle of Ron’s palm, “That is, if you’d like to go on a date with me.”

He could feel the breath being held in all the lungs around them. He loved having the audience for this. He loved it even more that they all kept their tongues in their damn mouths and didn’t ruin the moment.

“A date?” Harry quipped up from the other side.

Draco gave him a patient look, “One moment, Harry, I’m asking Ron first.” He put a soothing hand on Harry’s arm as he turned back to Ron and smiled in anticipation.

Ron nodded, “Yeah. Hogsmeade sounds great.” Draco rewarded him with a press of his thigh and turned that same smile to Harry. With those bright green eyes and a brighter smile, Harry nodded.

“It’ll be cold but we should fly there,” his eyes flicked over Draco’s hair again and Draco had to stifle the urge to preen under the gaze.

“I like that idea,” Draco nodded, for Harry’s benefit, and turned back to Ron. “Are you up to flying to Hogsmeade?”

“Absolutely,” Ron breathed. His hand closed on Draco’s fingers, but not tightly enough to hurt.

Draco nodded again and, as if on cue to his nod, breakfast arrived. He had to take his hands from both Ron and Harry, but made up for it by smiling and turning his head and listening when Ron turned to bicker with someone over his presence at the table. The tension outside the three of them died a slow, strangling death as Draco divided his attention between valuing Ron’s words and allowing Harry to see the red-gold he was so fascinated with.

Of course, he had to hold back the mad giggling of utter delight when ever he got “Ron-dear” to pass a bowl of something or “Harry-darling” to eat from his fingers. When breakfast concluded, as it had to eventually, he walked with them to the door. His skin buzzed as he pushed open the doors wide to exit. They had to take time in closing or else the show would be incomplete.

As the heavy doors swung slowly closed, Draco turned first to Ron and then to Harry. He cupped their cheeks and kissed them lightly on the lips, whispering where to meet him to fly out to Hogsmeade. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the entire Great Hall staring at him, with his glamored phoenix fire hair and enamoured suitors, their mouths open in shock and incomprehension.

When the doors had finally shut and the two Gryffindors went back to their dorms to get whatever they wanted to bring to Hogsmeade, Draco walked back to his own rooms beaming like the sun. 


End file.
